ODE
FOR
MUSICK
.
I.
DEscend
ye
Nine
!
descend
and
sing
;
The
breathing
Instruments
inspire
,
Wake
into
Voice
each
silent
String
,
And
sweep
the
sounding
Lyre
!
In
a
sadly-pleasing
Strain
Let
the
warbling
Lute
complain
:
Let
the
loud
Trumpet
sound
,
Till
the
Roofs
all
around
The
shrill
Ecchos
rebound
:
While
in
more
lengthen'd
Notes
and
slow
,
The
deep
,
majestick
,
solemn
Organs
blow
.
Hark
!
the
Numbers
,
soft
and
clear
,
Gently
steal
upon
the
Ear
;
Now
louder
,
and
yet
louder
rise
,
And
fill
with
spreading
Sounds
the
Skies
;
Exulting
in
Triumph
now
swell
the
bold
Notes
,
In
broken
Air
,
trembling
,
the
wild
Musick
floats
;
Till
,
by
degrees
,
remote
and
small
,
The
Strains
decay
,
And
melt
away
In
a
dying
,
dying
Fall
.
II
.
By
Musick
,
Minds
an
equal
Temper
know
,
Nor
swell
too
high
,
nor
sink
too
low
.
If
in
the
Breast
tumultuous
Joys
arise
,
Musick
her
soft
,
assuasive
Voice
applies
;
Or
when
the
Soul
is
press'd
with
Cares
Exalts
her
in
enlivening
Airs
.
Warriors
she
fires
with
animated
Sounds
;
Pours
Balm
into
the
bleeding
Lover's
Wounds
:
At
Musick
,
Melancholy
lifts
her
Head
;
Dull
Morpheus
rowzes
from
his
Bed
;
Sloath
from
its
Lethargy
awakes
,
And
list'ning
Envy
drops
her
Snakes
;
Intestine
War
no
more
our
Passions
wage
,
Ev'n
giddy
Factions
hear
away
their
Rage
.
III
.
But
when
our
Country's
Cause
provokes
to
Arms
,
How
martial
Musick
every
Bosom
warms
!
So
when
the
first
bold
Vessel
dar'd
the
Seas
,
High
on
the
Stern
the
Thracian
rais'd
his
Strain
,
While
Argo
saw
her
kindred
Trees
Descend
from
Pelion
to
the
Main
.
Transported
Demi-Gods
stood
round
,
And
Men
grew
Heroes
at
the
Sound
,
Enflam'd
with
Glory's
Charms
:
Each
Chief
his
sevenfold
Shield
display'd
,
And
half
unsheath'd
the
shining
Blade
;
And
Seas
,
and
Rocks
,
and
Skies
rebound
To
Arms
,
to
Arms
,
to
Arms
!
IV
.
But
when
thro'
all
th'
Infernal
Bounds
Which
flaming
Phlegeton
surrounds
,
Sad
Orpheus
sought
his
Consort
lost
;
Th'
Inexorable
Gates
were
barr'd
,
And
nought
was
seen
,
and
nought
was
heard
Around
the
dreary
Coast
,
But
dreadful
Gleams
,
Dismal
Screams
,
Fires
that
glow
,
Shrieks
of
Woe
,
Sullen
Moans
,
Hollow
Groans
,
And
Cries
of
tortur'd
Ghosts
.
But
hark
!
he
strikes
the
golden
Lyre
;
And
see
!
the
tortur'd
Ghosts
respire
,
See
shady
Forms
advance
!
Thy
Stone
,
O
Sysiphus
,
stands
still
;
Ixion
rests
upon
his
Wheel
,
And
the
pale
Spectres
dance
!
The
Furies
sink
upon
their
Iron
Beds
,
And
Snakes
uncurl'd
hang
list'ning
round
their
Heads
.
V.
By
the
Streams
that
ever
flow
,
By
the
fragrant
Winds
that
blow
O'er
th'
Elysian
Flowers
,
By
those
happy
Souls
who
dwell
In
Yellow
Meads
of
Asphodel
,
Or
Amaranthine
Bowers
:
By
the
Heroe's
armed
Shades
Glitt'ring
thro'
the
gloomy
Glades
,
By
the
Youths
that
dy'd
for
Love
,
Wandring
in
the
Myrtle
Grove
,
Restore
,
restore
Eurydice
to
Life
;
Oh
take
the
Husband
,
or
return
the
Wife
.
He
sung
,
and
Hell
consented
To
hear
the
Poet's
Pray'r
;
Stern
Proserpine
relented
,
And
gave
him
back
the
Fair
.
Thus
Song
could
prevail
O'er
Death
and
o'er
Hell
,
A
Conquest
how
hard
and
how
glorious
?
Tho'
Fate
had
fast
bound
her
With
Styx
nine
times
round
her
,
Yet
Musick
and
Love
were
Victorious
.
VI
.
But
soon
,
too
soon
,
the
Lover
turns
his
Eyes
:
Again
she
falls
,
again
she
dies
,
she
dies
!
How
wilt
thou
now
the
fatal
Sisters
move
?
No
Crime
was
thine
,
if
'tis
no
Crime
to
love
.
Now
under
hanging
Mountains
,
Beside
the
Falls
of
Fountains
,
Or
where
Hebrus
wanders
,
Rolling
in
Maeanders
,
All
alone
,
Unheard
,
unknown
,
He
makes
his
Moan
;
And
calls
her
Ghost
For
ever
,
ever
,
ever
lost
!
Now
with
Furies
surrounded
,
Despairing
,
confounded
,
He
trembles
,
he
glows
,
Amidst
Rhodope's
Snows
:
See
,
wild
as
the
Winds
,
o'er
the
Desart
he
flies
;
Hark
!
Haemus
resounds
with
the
Bacchanals
Cries
—
—
Ah
see
,
he
dies
!
Yet
ev'n
in
Death
Eurydice
he
sung
,
Eurydice
still
trembled
on
his
Tongue
,
Eurydice
the
Woods
,
Eurydice
the
Floods
,
Eurydice
the
Rocks
,
and
hollow
Mountains
rung
.
VII
.
Musick
the
fiercest
Griefs
can
charm
,
And
Fate's
severest
Rage
disarm
:
Musick
can
soften
Pain
to
Ease
,
And
make
Despair
and
Madness
please
:
Our
Joys
below
it
can
improve
,
And
antedate
the
Bliss
above
.
This
the
Divine
Cecilia
found
,
And
to
her
Maker's
Praise
confin'd
the
Sound
.
When
the
full
Organ
joins
the
tuneful
Quire
,
The
Immortal
Pow'rs
incline
their
Ear
;
Born
on
the
swelling
Notes
our
Souls
aspire
,
While
solemn
Airs
improve
the
sacred
Fire
;
And
Angels
lean
from
Heav'n
to
hear
!
Of
Orpheus
now
no
more
let
Poets
tell
,
To
bright
Cecilia
greater
Pow'r
is
giv'n
;
His
Numbers
rais'd
a
Shade
from
Hell
,
Hers
lift
the
Soul
to
Heav'n
.
FINIS
.